


These Hot Days

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-25
Updated: 2006-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Post-Hogwarts and post-War, Draco finds his former tent-mate, who's made a name and his own wealth by creating "Bitter Banshee," a potent green alcoholic beverage. In the meantime, Seamus has discovered origami, and despite several misunderstandings, they end up together.





	These Hot Days

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: The title comes from _Romeo and Juliet_ , Act III, Scene I:  
Benvolio: For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.  


* * *

Seamus was sitting at the countertop of his small kitchen surrounded by  
brightly coloured pieces of paper, when he sensed a flickering in his  
house wards. He wasn't expecting anyone, but neither did he have the  
painful, instinctive clenching sensation in his stomach that tended to  
accompany nasty things like Dementors. He'd honed those "gut reactions"  
during the War, and they'd kept him alive, an attribute about himself he  
was especially fond of, since he was still breathing and all.

 

 

He'd done quite well since the War. His persistent pursuits into turning  
various liquid substances into myriad quasi-alcoholic products beginning  
in his first year at Hogwarts had finally served him well; eventually he  
managed to create a chrysoprasic, gently undulating liqueur that he  
named Bitter Banshee. Rather unexpectedly, people in wizarding Japan  
took to it first, and he'd spent months in the Pacific working with  
small companies to import and distribute the potent green beverage which  
allegedly was _as soothing as the wind in the heathers,_ according to  
adverts in any and all publications in which Seamus could buy  
advertising. Of course, if one drank too much of it, most likely one  
would prefer to be buried in said heather-covered hills, but that wasn't  
his problem, now was it?

 

 

It was in Japan where he'd taken to origami. He wasn't the most patient  
man in the world, but he'd also never been drawn to participating in  
sports, and he couldn't begin to fathom the various gymnastic feats  
pursued by massive Sumo wrestlers. Folding paper, especially with a book  
of directions in front of him, was surprisingly rewarding. He moved on  
to Australia, distributing his Bitter Banshee and faring better  
socially. Seamus grew to love Muggle VB (Victoria Bitter beer) more than  
he should have. He also spent a lot of time on the beach, learning to  
surf, at least on a rudimentary level, and quite enjoyed the physiques  
of many buff surfer men. Unfortunately, his skin tone wasn't made for  
that climate and sun, and while he enjoyed some brilliant snogging  
sessions with bronzed Aussie wizards, he knew he couldn't stay. Too much  
sun, too many freckles, and he was tired of explaining that he was from  
Ireland, not Scotland.

 

 

He'd returned to his homeland via a fortnight with Neville and Dean in  
their London flat. They'd also thankfully endured and survived the War  
with precious few repercussions, their love lives were in a shambles,  
and he gratefully joined in their despair, and several bottles of  
Firewhiskey. He'd never told them of his particular gender preferences,  
which made their discussions a bit awkward.

 

 

"The women in Japan?" Neville asked, hopefully.

 

 

"They dressed like, well, Two Years. In a really pervy, plaid way.  
Skirts really short," Seamus replied.

 

 

"As though that's a problem," Neville sulked.

 

 

"But the birds in Australia," Dean said, a knowing wicked grin on his  
face.

 

 

"Too brutish," Seamus said, taking a long pull on his pint. He wasn't  
about to reveal that he couldn't have cared less about the women on the  
beach, not that the Aussie witches didn't try to change his mind.

 

 

The unfortunate truth was that he harboured a ridiculous fancy for a  
successful, turncoat Death Eater Slytherin. Bringing himself back to the  
present, Seamus roused himself from his flurry of memories and waited to  
see if someone actually mounted his stairs. Moments later, there was an  
insistent rapping on his door, which he promptly opened. Quite beyond  
all reason, the person whom he'd both loathed and wanted desperately  
at varying times in his life stood ramrod straight in his doorframe,  
dressed to the nines.

 

 

"Malfoy," Seamus said, extending his arm and giving Draco a firm  
handshake. "You're looking well, post-War and all that. What brings you  
here? Are you after getting lost?"

 

 

Draco paused for a moment before equaling Seamus' bone-crushing  
greeting.

 

 

"No. I'm here quite on purpose. May I come in?"

 

 

Seamus stepped back into his kitchen, waving vaguely toward the space  
behind him. "But of course. Tea?" he asked, his manners kicking in after  
registering that the blond, hair slicked and wearing full dress robes,  
was now standing in his short entryway and was gazing at the piles of  
square papers strewn on the countertop.

 

 

"No, I'd rather some of your famous brew."

 

 

"I don't brew it. It's a potion, Malfoy."

 

 

"Regardless. I couldn't possibly visit the maker of the famous Bitter  
Banshee and not have some."

 

 

Shrugging, Seamus went to his pantry and took out a bottle. He tried not  
to stare at Draco's long white fingers drumming some infernal and  
unheard tune on the worktop as he poured his guest a drink. He tried  
equally hard not to stare at Draco's pale throat, but again failed  
abysmally, so he poured some for himself as recompense at the completely  
ridiculous situation in which he found himself.

 

 

"Sláinte." He toasted his uninvited guest, then spent some time taking  
in the cut of Draco's robes, the tailored trousers, and even the signet  
ring on his hand, all of which could only mean…

 

 

"You're here to buy me out." Seamus had been propositioned enough times  
on multiple continents to know what it meant to be approached by men who  
were overdressed for a Thursday afternoon.

 

 

Draco smiled: a cold, feral grin.

 

 

Seamus didn't return it. "Forget it, Malfoy. My company isn't for sale."  
He gave a well-practised and condescending twitch of his freckled nose.  
"Make your own, if you can figure out the recipe."

 

 

Draco drained the rest of his liqueur, then looked around the kitchen,  
his eyes alighting on the myriad squares of bright paper. "And this is?"

he asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

 

Seamus twiddled his thin glass between his fingers. "Origami. Why? D'you  
like it?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he hoped  
desperately that the faint strain of neediness would remain unheard to  
Malfoy's ears.

 

 

"It's fascinating. And odd." Draco's grey eyes grew wide as  
he stared at the swans, boxes, and a multi-sided  
greatrhombiicosadodecahedron that had taken Seamus months to fathom,  
much less put together. Draco's gaze lit on the project he'd been  
working on before being so rudely interrupted. "What is that supposed to  
be?"

 

 

Seamus remorsefully poured another dram of the liquid that had made him  
independent and wealthy, but not brought him any closer to personal  
happiness. The Bitter Banshee had, however, managed in the past five  
minutes to bring the object of his affections into his house, though  
Draco seemed capable only of making fun of his hobby.

 

 

"S'a raccoon. I'm trying to make a fucking origami raccoon. Have your  
laugh, then leave. I'm not selling."

 

 

Draco eyed him warily before pushing his glass forward to have some more  
of the greenapple-coloured liquid. "You seem to come at quite a price,  
Finnigan."

 

 

Seamus gave Draco a dirty look. "Like I said. I'm not for sale."

 

 

They toasted each other, years of history scudding in their wake as they  
drank.

 

 

"So you say." Draco's words dripped sibilantly from his tongue, and  
Seamus wished that he'd never been attracted to the jubilant look on the  
Slytherin's face after a winning Quidditch match in their sixth year;  
wished he'd never had to share a tent with him for weeks on end during  
the dismal War; wished that Draco had never tracked him to his solitary  
home.

 

 

But of course. Like attracted like. Malfoy always came out on top, and  
now he was seeking out others who had done the same. It was just that  
Seamus wanted the man to have sought him out for personal reasons, not  
business. Just as Seamus had pressed his lips together in a thin line,  
trapping the slur against all Malfoys everywhere and the one in his  
kitchen in particular, Draco's demeanour suddenly changed.

 

 

"Bloody hell, Finnigan!" Draco exclaimed, his haughty veneer vanishing  
with his explosion of profanity. "This stuff is really wicked. I don't  
suppose that offer of tea still stands?"

 

 

Seamus grinned through his shock. "'Course it does. Give me just a  
minute." He got up and tapped at his kettle. It began steaming merrily  
as he heard a rustling of paper behind him. "Sugar and milk?" he asked.  
Where they had been stationed during the War, condiments for their tea  
existed merely as fond memories from their days as students.

 

 

"Yes, please. Very milky and sweet. Oh, and congratulations on your  
ranking in _Witch's Weekly_ ," Draco said, smoothing out a folded set of  
pages on the table.

 

 

Seamus almost dropped both mugs. "You saved that rubbish?" he asked  
incredulously before handing Draco his tea.

 

 

"Rubbish? It's not just anyone who's in the 30 Most Eligible Bachelors  
Under Thirty," Draco said snidely, his more usual snobbish tone  
returning to his voice. "Though given all you've done as an  
entrepreneur, I thought you should have at least been in the top ten."

 

 

Seamus sank into his chair with a thud. "You," he said haltingly, "you  
thought about me? Are you daft? You can't stand me!"

 

 

Draco took a polite sip of his tea before giving Seamus a disarming  
smile. "That was ages ago. And you shouldn't underestimate the effect of  
saving my life more than once," he said, twisting his cup around the  
saucer. "But this obsession with the Kestrals— honestly."

 

 

Seamus immediately took the bait, launching into a tirade about his  
beloved Kenmore Kestrals. He was stupefied when his brain managed to  
catch up to his mouth, realising that he and ruddy Draco ruddy Malfoy  
were having a good-natured, extensive argument about Quidditch.

 

 

In his kitchen. Over a months-old article that Draco had saved because  
Seamus was in it.

 

 

A quarter of an hour later, Draco threw up his hands in mock surrender.  
"Well, I suppose I'll just have to show you what you're missing. The  
Magpies play a week from today. If you've the time, I'd appreciate your  
joining me." He stood up from the table, and Seamus stood as well.

 

 

"Malfoy, I must say you're more than a bit confusing," Seamus admitted,  
walking around the table to grasp the other man's hand. "But I wouldn't  
be a Finnigan if I turned down the offer of a free match."

 

 

"That's the spirit," Malfoy said, delight shining in his expression. "We  
successful single men need to stick together."

 

 

Seamus deflated a bit at the thought of being single. "Right you are.  
'Til next Thursday, then." He watched Draco retrieve his wool overrobe  
from a grasping coat rack, a gift from Ron given when Seamus had made  
his first business deal.

 

 

"Looking forward to it." In a swirl of dark robes Malfoy left the house,  
shutting the door firmly behind him. Seamus waited until he could feel  
the magic pass through his wards, and there was silence. He slumped back  
into his chair.

 

 

Which one is he? Seamus wondered, confused. _Trying to take over my  
bloody company Malfoy, or 'Hey mate, let's go watch Quidditch' Malfoy?_  
Seamus stared at his cold tea for a while, then made up his mind to  
settle on the latter. He looked through his folding papers until he  
found an almost bilious green colour with tiny white flowers.

 

 

He'd been looking for an excuse to learn to make a dragon, and that  
reason had just been in his house. Mouth quirked, Seamus began folding.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Four days later Seamus ducked into the Three Broomsticks through the  
back entrance, greeting Rosmerta with a purposefully sloppy kiss across  
her cheek once she turned around.

 

 

"Seamus, you devil," she said, her voice heavy with affection. "I didn't  
think I'd see you until tomorrow!"

 

 

"Ah, but Rosie, I know you do your stocking on Sunday. And besides," he  
waggled his eyebrows, "I don't want to be a part of some boring routine  
of yours, now do I?" He hefted the box of bottles and perched it as much  
as he could on his fairly nonexistent hips. "I s'pose young Geoffrey's  
tending bar?"

 

 

She nodded and smiled before returning to her task of arranging bottles  
of Firewhiskey, wine, butterbeer and all kinds of substances even Seamus  
couldn't identify. "There's not many folks for him to worry about. Go on  
in and put your Banshees on the floor next to that ancient brandy. I'll  
never sell it, now that Professor Snape's gone," she said, wistfully  
before inclining her head at the door to the pub.

 

 

Seamus opened the door and took his merchandise into the mostly-empty  
room. The bright brilliance of Draco's unmistakable white-blond hair  
shone despite the dim light, and Seamus almost dropped his box. He  
caught Geoffrey Pennywhistle's eye, who stopped washing glasses and  
waved his wand at the bar so a flap rose and Seamus was able to come  
behind. He deposited the bottles in the spot Rosmerta requested before  
going back into the main section of the pub, taking a seat next to  
Draco, who greeted him by way of a raised eyebrow.

 

 

"Malfoy," Seamus said, befuddled. "What're you doing here?"

 

 

"What does it look like?" Draco said meaningfully, raising a glass of  
red wine.

 

 

"But I'd've thought that you'd only go to upscale places," Seamus said  
as Geoffrey made a disgruntled noise, placing a shot of Firewhiskey on  
the bar.

 

 

"So you think about me, do you?" Malfoy leered.

 

 

"Didn't say that," Seamus said insultedly, even if it were true.

 

 

"Well, actually, you did, and I'm flattered." Draco's voice took on the  
more friendly tone he'd had at Seamus' house. "I was feeling  
spontaneous, and suffering a modicum of nostalgia, and a smidge of  
loneliness. So I decided to come here." He gave Seamus an intrigued  
look. "You'll never guess what I dreamt of last night."

 

 

"Not a clue." Seamus tossed back his Firewhiskey, which was promptly  
refilled by the shaggy-haired apprentice bartender. "Some beautiful  
Veela-like woman writhing above you while you count your galleons?"

 

 

Draco looked both nauseous and affronted. "Merlin, Seamus, are you  
really that unobservant? I shudder to think about your other qualities  
aside from your sickening levels of loyalty and inexplicable talent at  
potions." He took a long drink of his wine.

 

 

"Excuse me?" Seamus' short temper began to flare. "I was the one who  
saved your arse more than once. _And_ had to share that bloody bedroll.  
You should be bloody grateful for my loyalty, you ungrateful-"

 

 

"I dreamt of Benvolio, my dear Seamus." Draco idly twisted the glass in  
his long fingers.

 

 

"You what?" Seamus was flabbergasted, both by Draco's use of his given  
name, and that of their often-fought-over bedroll, nicknamed Benvolio.  
It had been toward the end of the War, and all items of warmth were in  
short supply. He and Malfoy, like all on the front lines, slept little,  
but when they did, both men had tried to pull as much of their shared  
blanket on themselves. Seamus had given the abused blanket a nickname,  
and in the frigid dark of night when neither of them could possibly  
sleep, he'd told Draco about the Muggle story of Romeo and Juliet,  
explaining the reference. As a child, Seamus' father had read the story  
aloud to him.

 

 

During that time, Seamus had become exceedingly fond of the  
formerly-pompous Slytherin, and assumed (correctly, he was sure) that  
Draco would never imagine that Seamus felt wretched because he saw the  
two of them in the light of that Shakespeare play. Seamus had kept his  
feelings hidden, though he made sure that his classmate who'd forsaken  
all of his family and most of his former Hogwarts' housemates to fight  
against the Death Eaters had remained alive. Despite their former  
animosities, Seamus did everything in his power to prevent Draco's  
untimely demise, all while ensuring that he saved his own skin as part  
of the process.

 

 

"You dreamt about Benvolio?" Seamus now repeated, almost gulping his  
Firewhiskey. Out of habit, he pulled a piece of ever-present origami  
paper out of a pocket in his robe and began folding the first thing that  
came to mind.

 

 

"Yes." The intense gaze of Draco's grey eyes caught the Irishman  
unawares and he could only stare back in return. "I don't suppose I ever  
told you about the other sorts of dreams I had back then, or have  
continued to have in the time following."

 

 

"Most definitely not. We were barely on speaking terms, you'll  
remember," Seamus reminded him. He drew in a deep breath when Draco  
unexpectedly placed a hand on his upper arm, despite being in a public  
space.

 

 

"I remember and regret so much now," Draco said softly. "Would you care  
for a walk? I could stand a breather, I think."

 

 

Seamus nodded, stunned. He looked down at the origami animal he'd made -  
a dragon - which he quickly pocketed before rummaging through his robes  
for a few sickles. Geoffrey saw what he was doing and frowned.

 

 

"You know Madam Rosmerta won't take your money, so don't even try," the  
young barman said pointedly.

 

 

Seamus grinned. "Can't help it!" he said as Draco smoothly slid from his  
stool to the floor. "After you." He gestured to the front door while  
Draco paid for his wine, leaving a tip so large that Geoffrey was still  
staring at the coinage when the two men left the stuffy air of the Three  
Broomsticks.

 

 

They walked the cobbled paths of Hogsmeade in companionable silence,  
enjoying the crisp tang of early autumn until Draco ducked into an  
alleyway Seamus had never before noticed. He unerringly followed the  
blond man and was astounded when he found himself pushed against a stony  
wall, Draco's face mere inches from him, standing authoritatively with  
his strong fingers on Seamus' waist.

 

 

"Veela? Women?" he breathed against Seamus' lips. "The galleons I can  
fathom, but after all of those nights together, how could you not have  
realised that I wasn't like that?"

 

 

Seamus' mind spun faster than one of the Weasley twins' Catherine Wheels  
fireworks, but then it promptly shut down altogether as he felt tender  
lips on his, an unfamiliar but welcome tongue insistently attempting  
entry to Seamus' mouth.

 

 

Seamus was going to answer Draco's question, honestly, but then Malfoy  
was sucking on Seamus' bottom lip, and Seamus was rather moaning than  
speaking, and threading his fingers through what should surely be  
illegally fine hair. He tasted wine, and some kind of spicy warmth as  
Draco's tongue moved against his own. Ridding himself of any caution,  
Seamus mashed their mouths together, feeling the backside of Draco's  
perfectly straight teeth for the first time with his tongue, unsurprised  
that the heroics going on in their joined mouths was finding equal  
interest in his groin.

 

 

This carnal intrigue was apparently shared by Draco, who rubbed his  
growing erection sinuously against Seamus until the taller man moved his  
hands up Draco's arms and then regrettably pushed him a shade away from  
himself.

 

 

"You fancy blokes?" Seamus panted, unsure and unconvinced he wasn't  
merely part of some Grand Malfoy Plan of Indignity to which he would not  
parlay.

 

 

"Only a few," Draco replied, his pupils widened with desire. "I wanted  
you. I incorrectly assumed you were uninterested." He pressed back into  
Seamus' body, which arched insistently against the other man's.

 

 

"Why'd you never tell me?" Seamus asked before nipping at Draco's ear,  
earning a low groan.

 

 

"Tell you? I figured I'd never have Benvolio's warmth again, much less  
yours." Draco had insinuated his hands under Seamus' robes and shirt and  
was clasping at the back of Seamus' ribs. "The Romeo and Juliet story.  
Two people from opposite ends of the spectrum, but who fall in love just  
the same. I'd thought, well, I was sure I was wrong, but I suppose I'd  
hoped that you were thinking of the two of us as you told me about it."

 

 

Seamus claimed Draco's lips as he finished his sentence, clasping  
Draco's head in his wide fingers. "'Course I did, you Slytherin git. I  
just figured you'd want nothing to do with me, so why would I've been  
obvious?"

 

 

They kissed again, languorous, new and delicious.

 

 

All of a sudden Seamus thought of the Firewhiskeys he'd had, and how he  
must taste, and drew back from Draco's lips. "Oh, fecking hell, Malfoy,  
why didn't you say something about how awful my breath must be?" He  
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, mortified, and got out his  
wand to cast a cleansing charm on himself.

 

 

"You taste like _you,_ you Gryffindor git." Draco grasped at Seamus' wand,  
lowering it slowly. "If you'd like to know, I have all sorts of  
toothbrushes and mouthwashes at my home, though I quite like the way you  
taste, drink or no." Draco's hands were slithering down Seamus' front to  
the prominent bulge in his mundane trousers. He'd not expected to meet  
anyone he cared about while out doing his few delivery rounds, after  
all, much less discovering that the man with whom he'd had a ridiculous  
fascination would inexplicably be both interested in him, and even  
randy.

 

 

Draco ruddy Malfoy. Who, during those sleepless nights he'd tentatively  
draped an arm over during their reconnaissance work in the War. His  
Romeo… no, wasn't Juliet from the better-off family? Still. Two  
opposites, if ever there were.

 

 

"Where's your place? Seamus asked, moving his hands down Draco's body so  
they were becoming happily acquainted with the other man's narrow  
buttocks. "Because you did just invite me, didn't you?" He sniffed at  
Draco's neck, inhaling a very pleasing piney/broom polish scent before  
swiping his tongue across a swath of Draco's pale skin.

 

 

"Let's go to my house in Ireland," Draco murmured against Seamus'  
cheekbone. "You won't have so far to Apparate."

 

 

Seamus felt as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him.

 

 

"We haven't even left fucking Hogsmeade and you're already thinking of  
getting rid of me?" he fumed, pushing Draco away from him. It was  
obvious that all Draco was interested in was a quick shag, before  
tossing Seamus out the door to return to his bachelor's house where he  
belonged. "Never mind. Just, oh, forget it. I'll see you on Thursday at  
the match," he said dejectedly, tucking his shirt back into his casual  
trousers until Draco placed his hands on Seamus' hips.

 

 

"That wasn't what I meant," Draco insisted, perturbed. "You live in  
Ireland. I had hoped, perhaps incorrectly, that you would be interested  
in spending the afternoon, or the evening, or both." He gave Seamus a  
lascivious look. "I wouldn't dare presume you'd care to stay the night,  
though I suspect that I'll make the offer. Assuming that you wished to  
return to your home, it seemed the most amenable if you didn't have to  
Apparate too far, hence the offer to go to my home in Ireland."

 

 

Draco stood, gently massaging Seamus' lower back, awaiting the other  
man's expected heated diatribe, which fizzled under Draco's neutral  
scrutiny.

 

 

"My apologies, Malfoy," Seamus mumbled. "I've been known to jump to  
conclusions, y'know?" He smiled ruefully, lifting a hand to trace  
Draco's jaw, shuffling forward a bit so he was pressed, gratefully,  
against the frame of the slighter man. "Let's go, then."

 

 

Draco's teeth gleamed in the early dusk as they Apparated together.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

It was the sheets that ultimately undid Seamus. He'd never cared much  
about what was on his bed - it was for sleeping, now wasn't it? -  
despite the fact that he tended to sleep in the nude. Malfoy's sheets  
were silken, though not silk. They were some other extraordinary fibre  
that rustled sensuously as Seamus writhed against them on his back,  
Draco lying prone against him.

 

 

They'd arrived at Draco's house clutched in each other's arms. It was a  
part of Ireland that Seamus had never visited, but the air managed to  
smell the same regardless. Without many words save those of muffled "Oh  
Merlin"s and "feel so good, yes there, please", Seamus and Draco entered  
Draco's house and quickly rid themselves of most of their clothes. Draco  
had been rubbing Seamus' turgid cock through his boxers when Seamus  
stopped kissing long enough to ask a question.

 

 

"You're not getting into my trousers because you're thinking I'll sell  
my company, are you?" he asked, breathless.

 

 

Draco rolled his eyes even as he continued his ministrations. "With my  
money, I could buy you out in the blink of an eye, Finnigan. I'm getting  
into your trousers because you're letting me. In addition, I've wanted  
to do this for years, you well-hung, reasonably articulate, blissfully  
skilled kisser and entrepreneurial genius."

 

 

Seamus momentarily stopped breathing. He'd just been dealt several  
accolades by the man he'd felt was forever unattainable, and whose  
dexterous fingers were making themselves very familiar with a part of  
Seamus' anatomy that very much wanted to be exceedingly familiar with  
the other man. In every sense. All senses, for that matter.

 

 

"I'm not really a genius," Seamus managed as he stripped off his boxers.  
He tumbled onto the bed, trying to keep Draco's lips as close to him as  
possible, whether on his mouth, or nibbling on Seamus' left nipple as  
the Irishman jutted his hips up from the coverlet. "But I'm glad that  
you're interested in what's in me trousers, 'cause, Merlin!" Seamus  
gasped as Draco's pink tongue lapped at the juncture of his inner thigh  
and very taut, sensitive sacs.

 

 

"Just Draco is fine," the blond drawled before swallowing Seamus' cock  
in one smooth gesture.

 

 

Seamus was in heaven, or something quite similar. He'd yearned for  
Malfoy for years, seeing past the acerbic remarks, the rude commentary,  
the unrepeatable diatribes, the unforgivable racism…

 

 

For a moment, the logical element in Seamus' mind took over. He couldn't  
stand Malfoy! Except that he could, and he'd been attracted to him for  
years. In fact, beyond all reason, Seamus wanted to be absolutely  
pummeled and possessed by him. In a lucid flash of self-cognisance,  
Seamus recognised that while he wanted to be in charge of his own money,  
travel schedule, and Banshee distribution details down to the knut, he'd  
quite possibly found his ideal sexual and emotional partner in his  
former classmate. Draco might use him to fulfill his own desires, but  
Seamus rather liked the idea that this could be one area of his life in  
which he didn't have to be in charge, and could, in fact, be told what  
to do.

 

 

"Turn over," Draco said, as though he'd instantaneously learned how to  
read Seamus' mind, his thoughts as blatantly obvious as the messages  
expressed in tea leaves to Professor Trelawny. Seconds later Seamus was  
on his knees, face pressed into an impossibly soft pillow. He was  
moaning, stretched from the inside as Draco tenderly thrust into his  
arse with slicked, closely-manicured fingers, seeking for that spot he  
knew would make Seamus cry out his name: Draco, not Merlin, nor any  
Muggle deity. Seamus did, wriggling and begging unabashedly, freckled  
arse in the air and grasping at the fine sheets underneath him.

 

 

Seamus held his breath for a second time when he was breached before  
bucking back into the sensations, wiping the sweat above his eyebrows on  
the back of his hand as his body silently screamed for more, and more,  
and more, and Draco was tugging on his cock and there seemed to be some  
stray feathers drifting around his head and he was blissfully filled  
and…

 

 

Oh…

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

"Bloody birds. Not exactly what I had in mind for a first aubade, my  
dear Finnigan."

 

 

Seamus rubbed at his eyelids, wondering just for an instant where the  
fuck he was and what to do with his raging morning erection and bollocks  
but he was lying on nice sheets and Merlin's beard that voice was like  
sex on toast.

 

 

"Aubade?" Seamus croaked, understanding wading through his muddy morning  
thoughts. "Draco!" he exclaimed, his left hand grasping toward the other  
man who sat, refined, drinking a cup of tea.

 

 

"Yes, so I am," he replied before blowing steam off the top of his cup.  
"You're looking thoroughly shagged and well rested, I'm pleased to see."

 

 

Seamus tugged a hand through his hair, his memory racing through the  
previous day's events. He grinned. "Thoroughly shagged and well rested.  
Though another shag could certainly be on the cards," he said  
meaningfully, looking down at his groin. "Not that you weren't amazing,  
Draco, and Merlin knows, but, oh- c'mere, you devil. 'S'a new day, which  
brings new opportunities."

 

 

A smile flitted across Draco's face as he carefully placed his hot tea  
on the bedside table and straddled Seamus' abdomen. "Like attracts like,  
you know," he murmured, allowing his dark green robe to open before he  
let it drop off of his shoulders. "We've both always wanted things a bit  
beyond our reach, and beyond what others might understand. It makes us a  
good pair, if you're not adverse to that thought."

 

 

Seamus ground his hard cock against Draco's, clasping the slighter man's  
hips. "It may be autumn, but I'd have to side with out friend Benvolio  
the bedroll in regards to hot days… and even warmer nights."

 

 

Draco gazed snidely at Seamus before a genuine smile warmed his  
expression. "I'm just looking forward to how hot and bothered you may be  
after the Magpies match. Don't forget, it's on Thursday." He rubbed  
purposefully against Seamus' groin.

 

 

"Draco," Seamus paused while garnering all the courage he could manage  
at the early hour, "You could tie me up, if you wanted. I trust you, and  
you're fucking hot as hell. Just-"

 

 

"Sssshhhhhh," Draco hissed fondly as he retrieved his wand. "As I said,  
like attracts like, and I," he cast a spell that bound Seamus' hands and  
ankles to the bedposts, "like," he feasted on Seamus' mouth despite the  
Irishman's protestations of morning breath and the need of a cleaning  
spell, "you."

 

 

Seamus shuddered under the loving onslaught to his body, only then  
noticing that his origami dragon was dancing languidly in the air near  
the bed. The accepting gesture from his new lover made Seamus lick his  
lips seconds before Draco claimed them as his own, again and again.

 

 

 


End file.
